


Sweet like salt

by NohaIjiachi



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Crowley needs a hug very badly, Love Confession, M/M, Prompt Fill, angsting like there's no tomorrow, snangst, uber fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:37:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22349998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NohaIjiachi/pseuds/NohaIjiachi
Summary: The pothos felt like they were having a great day, for once. The Scream-y Demon wasn’t threatening them, which was always a plus, but not only that— He was also watering them without a peep! And his usually piercing yellow eyes weren’t glaring around in a hunt for imperfections, but rather seemed to be far, unfocused, as if he was deep in thought.“I have to tell him, don’t I?” the Scream-y Demon said, almost soft-voiced, and the pothos went rigid for a moment before realizing they hadn’t been talked to as much as talked at.Nothing was added as the Demon put down the mister and grabbed his jacket as he got out the room, the noise of the entrance door opening and closing rapidly following.Little did the pothos knew that the individual that would return would be a vastly different one.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 29
Kudos: 346





	Sweet like salt

**Author's Note:**

> I'd say this is the last of my kinkmeme prompt fills, except I literally just finished writing another one that I think I'll be posting directly on AO3 like, an hour ago, and there are many prompts that caught my fancy I might get onto at some point, so idk
> 
> For now, a short, sweet one for [this prompt](https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/616.html?thread=1153640#cmt1153640)

The pothos felt like they were having a great day, for once. The Scream-y Demon wasn’t threatening them, which was always a plus, but not only that— He was also watering them without a peep! And his usually piercing yellow eyes weren’t glaring around in a hunt for imperfections, but rather seemed to be far, unfocused, as if he was deep in thought.

“I have to tell him, don’t I?” the Scream-y Demon said, almost soft-voiced, and the pothos went rigid for a moment before realizing they hadn’t been talked to as much as talked _at_.

Nothing was added as the Demon put down the mister and grabbed his jacket as he got out the room, the noise of the entrance door opening and closing rapidly following.

Little did the pothos know that the individual that would return would be a vastly different one.

—

The thought came to Crowley almost on its own—

But no, that wasn’t true, wasn’t it? There had been ideas brewing in the backseats of his mind. Things that he refused to acknowledge, but that were there, nonetheless. Little sneaky thoughts that slithered by, going before Crowley could properly grab them and throw them away.

And now he was there. Weeks after the world was spared and they escaped full extinction. He was there and he had to recognize it.

He’d been in love with Aziraphale for six thousand years, but it was clear Aziraphale did not love him back.

Oh, he loved Crowley, sure. He clearly cared for him. But there was love and then there was _love_.

And what Crowley felt was _love_. Aziraphale— Well, arguably did not.

And that was— Fine. It was fine. It had to be fine, because Crowley would take anything Aziraphale was willing to give him, even if it wasn’t quite what Crowley wished for. It was and had to be fine, because Crowley would never ask for more and risk to ruin what he already had.

But that nagging idea was there. Now that they were free— No one but themselves to answer to— Now that Crowley did not have to jump through endless loops to express what he felt he could go ahead and just— Say it.

He had to. He had to take that particular baggage off his shoulders, after millennia. Put it down, with the awareness nothing would be born of it, and free himself from that secret.

And Aziraphale— He deserved the truth, too. He deserved to hear it, so they could stop dancing around the topic like trying to walk between eggshell and move on, make something of this freedom they now had.

He moved almost on autopilot as he got out his flat, down the stairs, hopping in the Bentley. Luckily she did the lion’s share of the work, as she often did, seeing Crowley was way too distracted to really pay much, or any, attention to the road.

He got on the sidewalk in front of the familiar bookshop, taking a moment to look at it. How many times has he traced these same steps? Hundreds? Thousands?

And hopefully he’ll continue to do so, in the future. He felt strangely— Tranquil, almost detached, as he traced the familiar movements of climbing on the three steps and let himself in without knocking, as he usually did. He wasn’t afraid. He had a plan.

He’d say it, and Aziraphale would maybe fumble and be a bit embarrassed, but in the end he’d be so kind while telling Crowley he was sorry, that he did not feel the same way, and Crowley would reassure him he didn’t have to. They might feel a bit awkward for a time, spend some days apart just to get over the first, disconcerting phase, but then Aziraphale would invite him for a drink, or Crowley would tempt him out to dinner, and they would go back to the usual, finally freed from this secret that started as a pebble and now felt like a mountain range between them.

“Oh, hello, my dear! What a nice surprise!” Aziraphale said once he turned, his expression shifting from annoyed at the prospect of having a potential customer to downright _beaming_ at the sight of Crowley. “What do I owe the pleasure?”

Crowley felt a smile tugging at his mouth. Only Aziraphale could say the words ‘_what do I owe the pleasure_’ and actually mean them, not make them sound like a passive-aggressive jab.

“Nothing in particular, felt like coming by,” Crowley lied swiftly, with the practiced ease of one who spent hundreds of years not saying the words ‘I just wanted to see you’. “There’s a thing I need to tell you,” he then added, more honest, voice steady and casual. Aziraphale blinked, still smiling vaguely as he quickly went to turn the sign on the door on ‘closed’, before guiding Crowley toward the backroom in a familiar manner.

“What is it? Should I take out the wine?” he asked, halfway between slightly concerned and amused.

“Ah, well, that’s up to you— After, I’d imagine,” Crowley replied, somewhat self deprecating. He took a quick breath in as Aziraphale stood in front of him and watched by, head tilted slightly on a side in clear wait, but then stopped himself. It didn’t feel right, to do this with the glasses covering his eyes, so he slid them off, tucking them in his jacket pocket.

Aziraphale was still patiently waiting, and Crowley took a moment to fight the knot that was threatening to form in his throat. He had to do it now, and quickly, like ripping a band-aid off, before his lizard brain got the best of him.

“—I love you,” he managed to choke out, proud of himself when his voice caught only slightly. Aziraphale’s eyebrows rose slightly, and then he squinted at him, and then understanding dawned on him clearly, expression shifting with it.

“Oh!” he said, very softly. Crowley braced himself, internally hoping Aziraphale would make it quick, not linger too much with the excuses, and just let him down rather than dragging the whole ordeal—

Except— Except something strange was happening. Aziraphale’s shoulders dropped slightly, as if he were going pliant, and his eyes suddenly seemed so unbearably gentle, a glint in the gray-blue of them, his mouth curving in a smile so very soft— And that did not seem the reaction of somebody who was supposed to break someone else’s heart, not in the slightest—

“Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry,” Aziraphale said, and there it was, Crowley thought as he fought against the instinct of closing his eyes as if waiting for an impact. But Aziraphale continued. “I— I should’ve been the one to say it, shouldn’t I? But I let you take the lead again— Awfully selfish of me, really—“ Aziraphale stepped forward, still with that inexplicable expression that made no sense to Crowley. Aziraphale’s hand landed softly on Crowley’s upper arm, as he looked up slightly to meet Crowley’s eyes directly.

“I love you too, my dear,” Aziraphale said, voice so quietly soft, and Crowley’s mouth fell open.

_What?_

“What?” he repeated, faint. This was not supposed to— This wasn’t what Aziraphale was supposed to say!

Aziraphale, maddeningly, giggled slightly. “I do love you, Crowley,” he then said, amused and warm, as if they were sharing some kind of inside joke. “You don’t have to do that to have me say it again, I will say it as many times as you ask.”

Crowley stood there, frozen, and— And—

No. Yeah. Right. Aziraphale must’ve misunderstood. Clearly he thought Crowley said ‘I love you’ as in, I love you like a friend, and replied in kind. Which Crowley knew. That Aziraphale considered him a friend had been clear for a long time, even if the Angel sometimes tried to deny it even up to the last day of the world—

“Angel,” Crowley said, cursing himself internally when his voice trembled. He felt angry. Why did Aziraphale always had to make things so— Difficult? And Crowley knew it was illogical, it was not Aziraphale’s fault, not really, it was just… The way the Angel was wired. “No, no— I think you don’t— Listen, I don’t just love you, ok? I’m _in love_ with you.”

The whole blasted world should be proud of Crowley, for being able to say that so explicitly, even as he felt humiliated by having to do so. But Aziraphale looked at him, clearly confused, and Crowley was all but ready to tear his own hair out in frustration when—

“Yes, I know,” Aziraphale said, an inflection of questioning in his voice. “And I’m also in love with you.”

Crowley’s brain crashed. Blue screen of death. Red-circle of doom. The next thing he knew, he was sitting, both of Aziraphale’s hands on his shoulders and a concerned Angel all that was present in his field of vision.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale said, a twist between his eyebrows. “You went— Blank for a second, there, are you alright, my dear?”

“No,” Crowley heard himself say from far away, as if he was currently watching over the scene from a corner of the room. “I’m not— You’re not— This wasn’t how it was supposed to go!”

Aziraphale still looked concerned as he very softly asked, “…What was supposed to go how, Crowley?”

“This!” Crowley snapped, gesturing frantically between the both of them. “You were supposed to— Tell me you don’t feel the same, and I would say we could just stay friends, and then go back to the usual, not—“

_Not this. You weren’t supposed to say— That. Give me hope. Give me a sweet deception and make me believe we could be more— That’s cruel, Angel, even if you must be doing it because you think it’s the right thing to do— This is ruthless kindness, and I’ll go in pieces when you’ll realize you don’t really feel like that, when you’ll have to tell me it has been a mistake and that we can only be friends. I won’t survive it, I will go in pieces and never be able to put myself together again—_

He did not say that, none of those words that ran through his scrambled thoughts, but Aziraphale’s expression crumbled nonetheless, as if he actually spoke out loud.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale exhaled, but then closed his mouth. Crowley felt even more speechless as he watched on, as Aziraphale shifted down and kneeled in front of him, palms sliding down from Crowley’s shoulders along his arms, to go gently holding his hands. “Oh, my dear, no— I— I must’ve hurt you so very much,” Aziraphale said, so much sadness crammed in his voice that it could probably make a baby deer cry. “I’m so awfully sorry, Crowley. But please, believe me when I say that I love you so much, my dear. I have for a long time. And I’m— So terribly sorry for having led you to think I didn’t. I thought— I thought that you knew, that we were both holding back due to our situation, I had no idea—“

Aziraphale trailed off, clearly pained, taking a moment to collect himself as Crowley kept on watching, unable to break out of his mute spell.

“I love you, Crowley. I love you more than anything. I love you more than little restaurants where they know me— More than first class composers’ music, more than my bookshop— I love you more than all my books, I would throw them in a volcano, if it meant showing you how much I love you—“

That was what finally managed to break through. Crowley let out a rough chuckle, shaking his head.

“You don’t mean that—“

“I do,” Aziraphale interrupted him, quiet but firm. “I love you more than the sky and the clouds. More than the chirping of birds. I love you more than walks in the park and good wines and hot cocoa. I love you more than the entire world. I wish I had been braver, less blind— I wish I had realized earlier how displaced my faith in Heaven was, and how I should’ve trusted no one but you from the very beginning— I wish I had been more courageous, and shown you a long time ago what you mean to me. I _love_ you, Crowley. I love you. I will say it as many times as it’s needed for you to understand.”

Crowley blinked, mouth opening and closing repeatedly. He was looking down at Aziraphale, gaze chained, but it was— Difficult. There was so much raw emotion in Aziraphale’s eyes, in the determined frown etched in his face. His hands were steady around Crowley’s, and he looked like he was ready to spend a year there, kneeling in front of Crowley, ready to repeat those words over and over and over—

And something squirmed in Crowley’s chest. A hope he thought he’d long reduced to nothing, to ashes, and blown away in the wind to never be seen again—

The hope that it was real. That they could have something more—

“Angel, you can’t,” Crowley managed to choke out, feeling his eyes burn, and wishing he hadn’t taken off his shades at the start. “You can’t. If you give me this only to take it away later I won’t be able to— It’d be worse than Holy Water—“

“Well, it’s a good thing I don’t plan on taking it away later— Nor ever, for that matter,” Aziraphale replied softly, before adding for good measure, “I love you.”

And then he pulled, pulled so gently until Crowley allowed himself to lean in, to push his forehead against Aziraphale’s shoulder as Aziraphale snuck his arms around Crowley’s back, squeezing just enough, his cheek pressing against Crowley’s ear as Crowley tried and failed to silence the broken sob escaping his traitorous mouth.

“I love you,” Aziraphale repeated as he caressed Crowley’s back. “I love you,” he repeated as he ran his fingers through the short hair on the back of Crowley’s head, “I love you,” he said again and again and again as Crowley stifled sobs he couldn’t stop against the soft, well-worn fabric of Aziraphale’s waistcoat, as he finally allowed himself to hang onto Aziraphale as if he was all that existed in the world, as he listened to Aziraphale say those words over and over and fought an internal battle to accept them—

Because he had been so sure of how things would pan out. So sure he’d have to retreat to go lick his wounds and get himself drunk once the rejection would come. So sure he’d have to just keep living like that, while loving Aziraphale with all his being—

But now he was there, being held so lovingly, being told he was loved, a joyful agony in his chest as he realized that they could’ve just had this— That Aziraphale had been loving him for who knows how long, that Crowley hadn’t seen the signs, or maybe refused to see them. That if it hadn’t been for the tyranny of their respective ex-sides they could’ve had this for a long time already, and Crowley wouldn’t have had to wallow in his misery for so long—

“I love you,” Aziraphale said yet again, and then gently put a hand under Crowley’s chin, tipping his head up to push a soft, fleeting kiss on his mouth, and the last of Crowley’s denial crumbled like sand. He released an inarticulate noise, to which he added one more when Aziraphale smiled so _brightly_, and leaned in again to press his lips on Crowley’s cheek, quickly, fleetingly following the tear track on it.

“Do you believe me, now?” he then asked, almost a whisper, and Crowley realized they were both on the floor, now, that he was pretty much collected against Aziraphale’s chest in a tangle of limbs, and his fingers were closed in a vice on the back of Aziraphale’s waistcoat. He relaxed the hold a little, sniffing.

“Fuck me,” he then managed to mutter, halfway between wonder and disbelief. “But I think I do.”

Aziraphale was still smiling at him, his eyes shining with fondness, and Crowley had another belated realization. He felt so warm, so very much like there was no one but them in the world, because Aziraphale was making it so he could feel like that. His wings were spread out fully, pearly feathers circling them, almost creating a cocoon around them, and Crowley could feel a sense of calmness seep in him, almost as if Aziraphale’s wings were emitting it—

“Really, Angel,” Crowley muttered, trying to recover some of his dignity. Aziraphale chuckled, producing a full blown lacy, tartan patterned handkerchief out of his pocket. Of course he did.

“I’ll hug you with all the limbs I have in my possession,” he declared, offering the handkerchief casually, squeezing Crowley to himself a bit more as Crowley quietly accepted the offer to clean himself up a bit. “Short of getting out this corporation— I’m not quite sure you’d appreciate getting a hug from many-eyed-wings.”

“Try me,” Crowley replied, already stepping back in his impertinent, farm more-self assured persona, causing Aziraphale to release a huffy laugh.

“Now,” Aziraphale then said, shifting to put both hands on Crowley’s cheeks and keep his face pointed at him. “Tell me, what do I do?”

Crowley blinked, rapidly catching on. “…You love me.”

“Good. Have you understood that? I mean, _really_ understood?”

“Yes, yes, I did,” Crowley huffed, slightly embarrassed, and Aziraphale relaxed his hold, allowing him to look on a side with a little pout. “I got it.”

“I do hope so,” Aziraphale murmured, so very soft, and Crowley let out a trembly sigh, before turning to face him again. Aziraphale waited, the face of calmness, as Crowley leaned in just slightly. And when Aziraphale did not retreat, Crowley finally allowed himself to get what he had dreamed so many times of having.

Aziraphale’s lips were slightly salty, and yet, Crowley felt like he had never tasted something quite as sweet in his entire life.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [Tumblr](http://nohaijiachi.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/NohaVale)


End file.
